Of the Past, the Present, and the Future
by MalloryAlise
Summary: A little journey into the past, dealing with the present and looking forward to the future. M and Loan pairing.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: Dark Angel does not belong to me.

Enjoy!

**Of the Past, the Present, and the Future **

**_Chapter One: Of Eggs and Donors_**

"Hey there," Max said as she decided to make her presence known. She had been watching Logan work for several minutes before deciding to interrupt him.

"Hey yourself," Logan said spinning around in his chair and bestowing one of his heart-stopping smiles on Max.

"So, what is Mr. Eyes Only up to so early in the morning?" Max asked, pretending to look at a non-existent watch on her wrist.

"Nothing that he can't walk away from to make breakfast for a beautiful woman," Logan flushed as the words left his mouth. _Did I really say that out loud?_

Max smiled, unsure of how to respond but she decided not to listen to the warning klaxons going off in her head and go with the flow. "Beautiful, huh?"

"I'm certain you've been told that many times in your life, Max," Logan replied rolling past her to the kitchen.

"Yeah, but only the ones I get from you count," Max smiled, throwing Logan for a loop.

"What do you want for breakfast?" Logan asked, searching for an out. The conversation was growing to serious for early morning, and even though Max was playing the flirtation game Logan was afraid of spooking her.

Realizing that Logan had effectively put a stop to their little game of cat and mouse for now, she smiled. "Whatever," she said hopping onto the counter. "So, what exactly were you working on this morning?"

"I was actually doing a little bit of vetting for a friend." Logan answered, taking out eggs, cheese, ham and green peppers. "Omelets?"

"Sure," she shrugged. "Who exactly are you checking on?"

Digging out a skillet, Logan began preparing their impromptu breakfast. "Richard Lake got an anonymous donation and he wanted to know if it was on the up and up."

"Lake?" Max questioned. "The guy who operates the safe house for kids?"

Logan nodded his head, watching the eggs. "Yeah. Could you grab some plates and forks?"

Hopping off her perch, she snagged two plates from the cabinet and the silverware from the drawer bringing them to the counter. "So, was it?"

Slipping the fluffy omelets onto the plates, Logan responded. "Yeah, it seems that the Lakeshore House has just become five thousand dollars richer."

"That's a lot of money to throw around," Max said nonchalantly, taking a bite of her food.

"That's why I was checking the donor."

"Who was it?"

"Someone named Isobella von Heltrich," Logan answered digging into his food. "Juice," he mumbled around a mouthful of eggs, "I forgot to get it out of the fridge."

"I'll get it," Max said jumping up and retrieving a glass of juice for Logan and a tall glass of milk for herself.

Noticing the milk, Logan looked at Max intently. "Are you alright?"

"Fine," Max replied. "von Heltrich. I don't recognize the name."

"Neither did I," Logan said allowing the topic of Max's health to drop. "Apparently she's the daughter of a German investment banker and an Italian clothing designer. Grew up mostly in Europe but came to the States about two years ago after her parents were killed in a skiing accident."

"Sounds like your basic do-gooder."

"That's what I told Richard."

Finishing the last of her breakfast, Max looked up. "But."

"But what?"

"Oh come on, you've got that _I'm missing something_ look."

Putting down his fork, Logan leaned back in his chair and folded his arms. "I'm just wondering if the person is so good why are there no recent pictures of her? Surely somewhere along the way she would have been bio-ed for her charitable donations."

"Maybe this was a first for her," Max said standing, stacking their plates together and taking them into the kitchen.

"No, I did some research. She's been doing a lot of donating since her parents died. The majority of it in Seattle."

"Well," Max said dropping back into her seat, "maybe she doesn't like the attention, much like a certain man I know."

"Maybe," Logan mulled it over, and then realized what time it was. "What are you still doing here, anyway? Isn't Normal going to be riding you all day when you walk in at half past nine?"

Faking a cough, Max smiled. "I'm taking a sick day, which means that I do need to get out of here." Grabbing her jacket from a hook in the hall, "Thanks for breakfast, Handsome." Max hid a smile when she saw Logan's mouth drop a little at the expression. _Hey, you called me beautiful_. "And by the way, I expect to be fed again tonight," she called as she left the apartment.

_Author's Notes: _

_So, liked it or hated it? Continue or not to continue? Tell me by hitting that review button. I do like to hear from you every once in a while—especially those of you who lurk. (I lurk too, but I'm trying to get better and review the stuff that I read even if I only write "nice" or "interesting")._

_Be warned, updates will be slow, as I am working on my graduate degree in education this summer. That's right, I could be teaching at your local high school and you wouldn't know it._


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two: Of Past Lives**

"Ms. von Heltrich," the portly doorman greeted her as he held the door open, "you've been away a long time."

"Too long, I think," the woman replied, "how's Bertie doing?"

"She's well," the man nodded, "she keeps asking me when her favorite girl is coming to visit her."

"Tell her, I'll try to come by and see her next week, Barney."

"Will do."

Walking across the marble floors to the bay of elevators, the black clad figure drew plenty of stares, but the woman didn't care she was accustomed to this type of treatment at the Regal. Safely ensconced in the elevator taking her up to the eighth floor apartment, the woman relaxed against the smooth hardwood finish at the back of the elevator.

Looking around the Regal, one might think the Pulse never occurred. Marble floors, working elevators, expensive security system, five star restaurant. The Regal in Seattle was about the best one could hope for, but the woman hated it. All that was here to greet her was coldness, detached phony sentimentalities from people who didn't know her but wanted something from her, and loneliness, which is why she never spent the night in the apartment anymore. Barney was the highlight of her trips to the apartment, and he couldn't always talk to her because he needed the job to pay Bertie's medical expenses—even though he had recently received a sizeable amount of money. The woman smiled, she did like doing nice things for people she cared about.

Withdrawing her key as the elevator doors opened, she pushed in her security code and then unlocked the door.

The apartment was brightly lit and, where the wood paneling left off, painted in the most inviting shades of yellows and blues. Framed photos littered the walls and coffee tables, all showing different variations of her with her parents.

Ignoring her surroundings the woman walked the length of the apartment and found herself in the master bedroom. She strode towards the open walk-in closet and randomly extracted an ivory pantsuit and matching heels. The clothing smelled faintly of lavender, a fragrance she had not cared for growing up.

Pulling on the clothing and the shoes, she sorted through the jewelry scattered about on her dressing table. Locating her mother's string of pearls and watch, she decided she had enough accessories for her ensemble.

After dressing, the lithe woman went in search of a satchel to match her outfit. The bright light, streaming through the windows caught and danced on the embossed lettering of a nearby bag. Unconsciously, she found herself tracing the letters.

"IvH," she said to the empty room. Smiling sadly, she shook her head. "It seems like a lifetime ago."

She had never touched the von Heltrich money before; always content to sign it away to some charity in need of a benefactor, until the last few months. Today she was going to the bank to put her signature on a check, and if need be, withdraw more than the monthly stipend.

"How did this happen to me?" she asked quietly, as she found herself staring back into the mirror. "When did I start to care about him this much?" _Are you stupid_, she thought irritably, _you connected with him the first time you looked into his eyes._

Straightening her ensemble, she smiled softly, taking in her appearance. Oh yeah, she could definitely blend in with the snooty types in this outfit. Her eye caught a glimpse of something in the mirror, and turning, she stared at the beautiful painting she had acquired a few weeks ago.

_Too bad_, she thought miserably, _that Vertes didn't leave more than his initial fee in the safe_. Brushing an imaginary speck of lint off her jacket, she squared her shoulders and walked out the door into the overcast city.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three: Of Cretins and Art**

"Ah, Isobella," the man said with a fake Italian accent. Standing from his chair he came around the desk to greet his latest client. And what a strange client she was—beautiful, but strange.

"Andrew," Max replied with a pasted on smile as he kissed her hand. Cringing inwardly, Max tried to remind herself why she put up with cretins like Andrew Martel. "I hear you have a new painting for me."

"Of course," Andrew nodded, "another one came on the market this morning. Langdon called me as soon as the owner had left the building." Andrew stepped away from Max and ushered her down the hall to the showing room.

While Martel's didn't look like it did much business to the outside observer, it was actually a bustling art market for the elite. There were three showing rooms within the building; the main showroom was used only when having public viewing while the other two held paintings and various sculptures. Max had become quite familiar with the place during the last few months, as Logan had been liquidating his assets to finance his project.

Stopping at the closed door, Max cast a disdainful look at Martel who finally took the hint and opened the door to allow her inside. Glancing around the room, Max appraised the paintings stored within.

Most were originals, some were very good reproductions and others were badly forged but all carried expensive stickers and Martel's certificate of authentication.

One thing could be said about Martel, he may be a cheat but he was a very good cheat. If someone took their loving artwork to be appraised and found out it was nothing more than a canvas with some cheap paint on it, Martel was there all sad and sympathetic with his patents. He was smarter than most, having patents going back six owners instead of the usual three, that way when he did get caught he looked the part of the fool as well, but a fool with an all-sales final guarantee.

Max smiled at the Monet that had once hung prominently in the living room of Logan's apartment. "Absolutely beautiful. Three thousand?"

Martel looked at her in bewilderment, "Three thousand? Are you kidding, it's worth three times that on the open market."

"That's only if you didn't meet with a little accident while you were crossing the street," Max said, her face devoid of expression.

"That's…" Andrew started, his face pale.

"Blackmail," Max agreed, "yes, I know." Looking at the painting, Max opened the brown satchel she was carrying and removed a pre-packaged bundle of money. "I won't go a penny over five."

Swallowing hard, Andrew nodded rapidly taking the proffered cash from her hand. "It's always a pleasure doing business with you." Without taking the time to count the money, he signaled for two men to prepare the painting for transport. "Am I sending this to the usual address?"

"Yes," Max replied, as she withdrew a smaller amount of money from her satchel and handed it to him. "As always, I appreciate your discreetness in my acquisitions."

"I'm always happy to accommodate a client."

"Please remember to call, day or night, if a piece from the Cale collection comes up for sale."

"Of course," Martel smiled for the cameras. "Ciao, Bella."

Gracing him with a smile of her own, Max walked out of the room heading for the glass doors that would allow her to breathe fresh air instead of the over-perfumed air of Martel's.

Glancing at the expensive watch adorning her wrist, Max figured she would have enough time to change her clothes before needing to open the doors for the transporters at the storage facility where the rest of Logan's collection was already housed. To anyone on the street, Max looked as if she belonged in the ritzy district. From the string of pearls around her neck to the Versace pantsuit, right down to her four-inch Italian imported heels, she was every bit the snotty little rich bitch. _What would Logan think if he saw me in this_, Max thought as she climbed on her motorcycle and hurried off to change.

_Author's Notes: Thank you so much for reading and your notes of encouragement. Updates for this story will be few and far between as I am going through a rather rough time in my life. My father lost his fight with PNH on Monday - - and while writing is a good way to work through the grief process, my heart just isn't in it - - if it is not too much to ask, please keep my family in your prayers. Thank you and God bless you._


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